Category Archives: On Searching For The Silver Linings

Out on the wild west coast of New Zealand’s South Island, there’s a wee place at the edge called Okarito. It is beautiful, mostly beach and bush, and it hides the Holy Grail – its own species of brown kiwi (smaller than a unicorn but larger than a dragon’s egg), along with a guide who’s actually sanctioned by DOC to help people catch sight of the elusive critter. I was there only a couple of magic days and mysterious nights, but it pretty much summed up the year for me: I was on a mission.

The guided tour to see the country’s most famous resident was fully booked, but never one to say never, I took myself out into the bush in the middle of the night to find one for myself. The maiden voyage saw me venturing out with an elite team of highly-trained explorers (a pair of likeminded souls who fancied the thrill of the mythical chase, highly skilled in the art of Googling a kiwi’s call before braving the dark). The second night, I went solo. It was same, same, but different. Same – in that the kiwi avoided me, not even so much as calling out to tease at it had on the first expedition. Different – in that I’d forgotten I was terrified of possums and had no one to giggle with nervously in the pitch black when they swooped out of the forest to eat me alive (wait, that was the sandflies; the possums stood there and tried to put the evil eye on me. Sneakier than direct attack.)

I’d driven past the sign to Okarito more than once, distracted by the monumental glaciers to its right. But I was so glad I finally found it and its beautiful beach house. During the days, I filled the wait for kiwi O’clock with other things. Like cycling Enid along the empty roads, visiting Andris Apse’s home to see his beautiful gallery and learn his incredible story, climbing the Trig, walking on the beach to watch the sun set behind the headland, and sailing the lagoon.

There were other things to see. Life went on. Life turned up. In the dark, I didn’t just dodge the perilous possums, I saw glowworms blinking in the black, and I could only see them because the lights were out. On the lagoon, I saw the kind of mirrored reflections I thought could only exist in paintings. I took a boat tour with Franz Josef Glacier, Mt Cook and Mt Tasman as a backdrop, and though I didn’t see a kiwi in Okarito, a startling array of other birdlife popped by to say hello, including tui, oyster catchers, black swans & their cygnets, a great white heron and a bunch of bar-tailed godwits. These guys fly about ten days straight from Alaska without stopping or eating just to hang out there – the least I could do was be happy to see them.

And, while I didn’t sight the Holy Grail of mythical creatures, hearing the kiwi call gave me hope. They are out there – fighting outrageous odds, given the invasion of their lands by forces of evil committed to their extinction (that’d be those possums again). Now I know where the sign is. And the guide (whose services I’d recommend, having cornered him in his own home to demand photographic evidence, ending up discussing my quest at length while his cup of tea got cold). I’ll be back.

This time last year, I was down. But I wasn’t out. I’d lost something precious. But I was on a mission. A mission to hunt happiness – that elusive Holy Grail that life’s possums are always trying to do away with. So I didn’t indulge too far my sorrow for that which was gone. I didn’t turn my face only backward to mourn or only forward to search for a distant date when I would feel better and could begin to have a ball again (it was something like May 7th). I turned my face from side to side and looked all around. And even though Happiness didn’t magically, immediately appear, I saw beauty in the moments I did so. Life went on. I went out and lapped it up. I laughed. I faked it for a time, sure. But this year just gone, I fell in love again. I fell in love with the life all around me – and my own life just as it is, looking to no one else to make it amazing except myself. (It helped that the mountains saw snow the likes of which hadn’t been boarded in several seasons.)

This year I have seen lambs genuinely frolicking – hopping and skipping like bizarre ballet dancers. Fish jumping, like funny jack-in-the-boxes. Baby seals paddling, a waterfall their playpen. I have heard tui warbling and kiwi calling, waves lapping and wind howling. I’ve smelt the smoke of campfires and courageous cooking. I’ve tasted salt in the sea breeze and touched sand and snow, rock and rain.

Are you a new year’s resolutions kind of person? I am. And I usually win at them. But last year, I had to start below scratch and resolve just to find some resolve. It’s there if you want to hunt it down – just dig deep.

It’s a new year. A lot of us are looking at fresh starts (whether we wanted them or not). Find your resolve. Be kind to yourself. Be kind to others. And don’t just look back or forward – look around you. Appreciate what you see. And see the signs. Take the turns. Hope will be there. And magic might happen.

I’m on another festive road-trip, this year OZ rather than NZ. Christmas is such a great time to take a holiday – and while I’d love to be tucked at home with family and friends in the UK, amidst cosy jumpers and twinkling trees, I also love the utter freedom of constant movement and the excitement of seeing brand new things every day. Especially the sunshine. And my year wouldn’t have been complete without Sunday’s giant lobster on the roadside.

Christmas, nestled as it is before the end of one year and the start of another, often seems a time to compare. Compare life now to this time last year; compare location, occupation, partners, possessions; compare life’s pros and cons, what’s been gained and what’s been lost.

Our first night camping, what was lost was mainly sleep. Having been sweltering over in South Australia, we took a selection of sheets but decided sleeping bags would be surplus. Wrong. The tent, positioned as it was in the centre of a vortex, winds tearing around out of nowhere, was freezing. And I hadn’t even brought layers of clothing that could ease the situation.

Last night, we recovered in a motel. Whenever I stay in a motel I feel like I’m in an episode of the X-files. But there are no aliens here. Maybe just ghosts. I’m followed around by the ghost of last year’s Christmas road-trip, which I was lucky enough to enjoy with ex-partner-in-crime. I miss him like crazy. And last week, I went to see my friend Kade’s family on the Gold Coast. Not so much earlier than this time last year, partner-in-crime and I were over there for his funeral, and I’d not been back since.

Bad stuff has happened this year – stuff I’d rather hadn’t. But it’s not ever, nowhere near, the same as really losing someone. When someone dies, it doesn’t end. It’s never over. They’re gone forever. And every Christmas, every birthday, every holiday – they bring a peak in the ever-present pain for those who were closest. Seeing everyone left behind there, wishing my friend was still around, wishing it was possible to save each person from their grief… Those are Christmas wishes that could never be granted.

But such things are utterly out of our control. They can only be suffered and survived. And where there is unending grief, friends can only be supportive. Be present. Be there.

Not so with everything. Yesterday we acquired sleeping bags so we wouldn’t have another disastrous night of cold cramps. There are certainly things in our lives that go wrong that we can learn from and correct. Some things lost can be found again. I can think of several situations a tad more dire than lack of camping equipment that, with a little motivation, I can sort out next year.

Have a ridiculous holiday. Frolic until you’re famished and feast until you’re full. But spare a thought for those without. Those without the ones who would have made their Christmas complete. My heart goes out to you if you’re one of them. And if there’s anything distressing in your life that you know is fixable, that would make life merrier in 2015 if fixed, then make the resolution to address it. We owe it to ourselves – we who are lucky enough to have a full and fantastic life to live.

Doctor Who, Season 2, Episode 13. I woke up this morning, put on the TV while I pottered around the flat tidying up, and that’s what came on.

For non-hardcore fans, or people who aren’t fans at all (baffled face), this is the episode where Dr Who (David Tennant) is separated from his companion Rose Tyler (Billie Piper). They are torn apart into parallel worlds through a series of events where – look, just watch the episode. But first watch all the preceding episodes so the pain of this parting isn’t lost on you.

Why has this sparked a post? Well, along with making me cry, seeing this episode again made me think.

There’s a theory that for every decision every person makes, the universe is splintered into an infinite number of parallel worlds living the realities where a different decision was made and/or a different outcome experienced.

It can be as small as thinking that, in a parallel world, this particular episode wasn’t on when I turned on the TV, which probably meant I didn’t write this particular post. It can be as large as thinking, in a parallel world, the Nazis won the war. For an infinite number of moments, an infinite number of possibilities.

In a parallel world, the alien horde didn’t pass us by last week and instead decided we were worth invading. You get the idea.

I might easily not have turned the TV on at all this morning. I don’t normally. I haven’t lived somewhere with a TV since I left London (when, funnily enough, David Tennant was still the Doctor). I wouldn’t be here in Adelaide if I hadn’t been broken up with in Queenstown. What if that hadn’t happened? I spend a lot of time wanting to go back to how it was or how it might have been, wanting it to be different. But it’s not – not in this particular world.

But, overall, I like this particular world. I’ve had the chance to travel all over it; I make a living doing a job I enjoy; I have wonderful friends; I can go wherever I want. I’m free. If I hadn’t quit my job working as an accounting professional for Ernst & Young three and a half years ago, where would I be now? Who would I be? I might never have met previous partner-in-crime at all, and we had three amazing years together with a forever of friendship to come. I might never have started my business, Right Ink On The Wall, which I love and which grows as I grow. I might never have published my book, The Night Butterflies, which is something I’ve always wanted to do.

So, instead of mourning what could have been and decisions that might have been different, I’m going to focus on what could happen now, what could happen next, now this new world of infinite possibilities has opened up in this of all possible worlds. Who knows what could happen tomorrow? Or the next day? It could be beyond amazing. Given the choice in five or ten years’ time, I might decide I would never have wanted to miss it. So it’s a good job I’m here.

What parallel life could you be living? Would you go back and change something big, if you could?

On a completely related note, I adore David Tennant. If I could have changed anything about the moment I met him, when he was filming for Einstein & Eddington at my college in Cambridge, it would be not turning into the epic failure of a fan girl who couldn’t utter an intelligent word in his presence (can you tell from my smile?!). Oh, and I would have done my hair that day.

Friends and neighbours, sorry for my silence. I’ve been up and down, round and round… And now I’m in South Australia. Adelaide to be precise. It’s transpired that I’m going to be here for the rest of the year. I came via two other states. In Victoria I stopped in Melbourne, where I gained two hours, then I headed to Western Australia and spent a few halcyon days in Perth, where I gained three more (though my good friend’s 30th birthday celebrations may have stolen a few years of my life). I then hopped down to Adelaide via Melbourne, where I lost three hours but then managed to claw back a measly half. In summary, I’m quite confused. I’m not entirely sure what the real time or date is. But I do know where and who I am.

I also know what I am. I am no longer even a part-time reluctant accountant. I am fully freelance. I am a published author and managing director of my own book editing business. I am a wandering writer and renegade rover of this oyster of a world we live in. I didn’t choose to be cut adrift. But we can only make choices when it comes to what we can control. When it comes to ourselves. Our location, our occupation, our outlook on life and love, lost and otherwise. We can choose not to be beaten, not to be broken, whatever happens. We can choose to bounce back.

Of course, when we’re coming back from being knocked down, it helps to have friends, all around the globe, offering their support and inviting you into their homes. When you’ve lost your own, someone else’s home can be a sanctuary. And that’s how I come to be here, in the beautiful eleventh floor pad of an apartment block in the centre of Adelaide, with a balcony looking east out onto the hills and showcasing the sunrise, fitness facilities shared with the Crowne Plaza next door, and incomparable company.

I know what I’m doing here. I’m writing my second novel (here we go again, National Novel Writing Month!). I’m convalescing. I’m seeing old friends and new places. I’m firing up to gain more business. And I’m becoming even more who I want to be – just in time to turn thirty come Sunday (twitch, twitch).

So I said so long to Queenstown, but it won’t go anywhere, and I’ll be back. It is, without doubt, one of the most beautiful places in the world, where I’ve had the time of my life with some of the best people I’ve ever met. I went on a wee pilgrimage before I left to take shots of some of its highlights away with me. I’ve included just a few of these below.

Have you ever left somewhere with a heavy heart? Did you ever go back? Carrying a heavy heart is like flying with excess baggage – expensive and frustrating. I’m terrible at packing, but I’m aiming to reorganise things and travel lightly into the future.

Rum Curries

Lake Wakatipu

Basket of Dreams, Queenstown Hill

Lake Hayes

Queenstown Hill Summit

Bob’s Cove

Glenorchy Road

Macetown

Arrowtown to Macetown Track

12 Mile Delta

***

Have you read The Night Butterflies? Grab your copy here! Would you recommend it? Support your friendly indie authors – leave a review on Amazon or Goodreads 🙂

Life happens and, unfortunately, it’s not all springtime and rainbows. There are storms. The wind can be taken out of your sails, the bunny slippers stolen from your feet. Just when you think you couldn’t be happier, just when you think you’re safe.

But not being in a perpetual state of comfort is not a bad thing. Sometimes, we need to be reminded that life has rough edges and sharp corners, and it can’t always be controlled. This should engender a healthy respect for life; it should foster a feeling that nothing and no one should be taken for granted.

While I obviously never wish anyone to come to harm, I’m glad I don’t live a charmed life. I wouldn’t have anything to write about. On which note, I need to let you know that the countdown is almost over! Scarf-gate has been resolved. The battle is won and my first book, The Night Butterflies, is forthcoming!

….

I stopped writing there last night. Usually, I write a post all in one go and hit publish. But there was something I wanted to say, and I couldn’t quite say it. Then I read this post this morning by Gunmetal Geisha, You Probably Think This Post Is About You. Needless to say, I did. The messages in it are exactly what I wanted to share.

Don’t get too comfortable – because all your comfort can come to an end in a heartbeat. But enjoy the discomfort of uncertainty. Embrace every minute, every hour. Enjoy. Laugh. Love. I’d rather live an uncomfortable life – one of highs and lows, triumphs and defeats – than one lived in a single, steady trough, no dips, no peaks.

The Geisha says, ‘I’d like to think people are subject to the same amount of rejecting and rejection. But there are those who proclaim they’ve never been rejected. Good for them, I say, until it turns out they are the same people who say they don’t know what it feels like to be in love. Here’s what it feels like: Opening your chest like a coat and letting in sunlight. Naturally, you’re then open for the cold elements and letdown too. So it makes sense for a person all bundled in a safe, zipped-up chest not to feel either rejection or being in love. For myself, I choose to walk coatless.’

And so do I. As I ended up commenting: When someone is the sunshine, when it’s they who makes your day, every day, and suddenly the thing they want to change about their life is seeing You every day – that hurts. It makes a hole. It feels horrible and bitter and, while you’re still utterly in love, utterly immersed in someone else, their rejection of you makes you feel less and less in love with yourself, makes you feel less, full-stop. If the person you placed at the centre of your universe can’t love you, how will you find love?

But I’d rather walk through this world with coat cast off and feel like this right now than never know love in the first place. I’d rather be uncomfortable and cold sometimes – then know what it feels like to be warm again.

Do you walk through this world coatless? If you don’t, try unbuttoning it. There is nothing like the feeling of warmth on your skin, of love in your heart.

You may remember I shouted out a short while ago that my first novel, The Night Butterflies, was coming out – I wasn’t messing with you, it’s on its way. In fact, it should be out already, causing all kinds of havoc.

This post is about patience. Patience is a close cousin to frustration. There have been all sorts of roadblocks to this book. I’ve been navigating the seas of self-publishing as a greenhorn, one unused to the trials of the ocean, and one, moreover, beset by seasickness.

I’m planning a pamphlet on my story – something like, ‘A walk in the jungle: My path to publication’ – it really is an Amazon rainforest out there. You need a guide. Something to repel the creepy crawlies. And, preferably, someone to carry your luggage.

Despite the delays – the tigers, the sharks, the snakes, the storms – I reached the point where my title was to be sent to a printer for a short run and uploaded to Amazon Createspace for Kindle / print-on-demand simultaneously. It’s also going to Smashwords, so it’ll be available on any/all e-readers. Everything is ready – I’m ready. This is supposed to be the delicious distraction away from all things breakup. This and Instagram (damn, I love Instagram).

But, upon upload, I received a notification that my paperback ISBN (the unique global book reference assigned to your title by the national library of your country of residence) clashes with another title at Amazon. I followed up, because, well, it’s in the nature of an ISBN that it shouldn’t clash with anything. But it turns out that it clashes with a head scarf.

As this shouldn’t happen (it’s pretty much like winning the anti-lottery – they say at Amazon this hasn’t come up before), I figured it would be fixed in a day. But I’ve been liaising with CreateSpace, Amazon Customer Service, Amazon Author Services and Amazon Selling Support for coming up a week. Don’t get me wrong, everyone I’ve spoken to has been lovely. But I would *really* like to release my book now.

Your ISBN goes on your back cover and on the copyright page in the front of your book. It is used to make the barcode for the back of the book. It is used to register your book in databases around the world. It is how you track your sales. Having had my covers created, my barcodes bought, my interior formatted and my registrations made – at cost – I’m not keen to push my timescales even further, pay to perform all of this again, and have to request another ISBN when the one I have is valid.

The scarf is not listed on Amazon as a book, though I have found it on bookfinder.com listed as a title, which it shouldn’t be – because it is not a book. I’m hoping that Amazon can find a way to change its referencing so that it no longer has an ISBN associated with it and no longer clashes with my Night Butterflies, which I’m sure the world is waiting to read!

(c) 2014 Sara Litchfield

A couple of weeks ago, the above happened. It knocked me sideways, quite literally. But I’m okay. I’m grateful that, despite careering out of control on sheet ice for over a hundred metres: I didn’t hit the stone post; someone close came running to untrap me within ten minutes; I didn’t hit my head too hard while my toasted car rolled twice over; ACC covered my ambulance & hospital costs. And I learnt some stuff:

1. The top 5 things you stress about on your way to work are probably not important in the grand scheme of things.

2. All things are replaceable, except people.

3. Seat belts save lives.

4. Neighbours are kind.

5. Any day could be your last.

Are you stressed? Take a moment, look around – you’re alive. Be happy to be so – however much there is to do, at least you’re here to do it 🙂

“Nothing is so painful to the human mind as a great and sudden change.”

― Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

I’m waiting, these days, to hear whether I’ll be moving within the week. In the last fortnight, the two friends we’ve lived with since discovering this dreamy, alpine retreat have returned to France. We’re back to the UK for a visit in August and hoping to escape rent bills on top of travel expenses, so it’s time to go. Meanwhile, this lovely place has been put up for sale. Leaving early wouldn’t really be an issue if it weren’t for the fact we signed a fixed term lease, locking us into payments until the house is sold or the tenants replaced, but life’s a learning curve. And if we’d planned for the unanticipated, we would never have ended up living here at all, so I don’t regret it.

The cottage rattles emptily at the moment. It’s also, now the season’s changing, colder than any house has a right to be. But I’ll be so sad to leave it. Leaving conjures feelings the antithesis to those that flavoured the post I wrote when I was about to move here – Home Sweet Home. But I am still excited about the future, still hopeful, just in a more subdued way. I’ve achieved so much of what I set out to do while living here – I’ve built up the business over the last six months, I’ve launched a website, engaged with wonderful writers, edited valuable work. And I’ve written the-book-to-be. Admittedly, every waking hour that’s not spent working is being spent rewriting the damn thing, but I’m still on track to publish this year. So all the big bits of life are where I wanted them.

So why the melancholy? Although I like to be on the move, I don’t like moving. It takes so much time, so much effort, there’s so much mess, and I *hate* packing. Thankfully, a wonderful friend is taking us in, but we’re losing a place of our own and I don’t know when we’ll have another. I’ll miss my window seat study. I thought we’d be here longer, be more settled. I thought many things. I thought this was my perfect pad, a utopian dwelling where everything would go right and nothing wrong. Instead, many things have gone the least helpful of ways.

Queenstown is a funny and unique place. It’s a high-octane, beautiful bubble full of comings and goings. Everyone’s on an adventure. That makes it an exciting place to congregate, and those who hang about feel a real sense of achievement just for being here above a couple of days. After a week, they call themselves ‘local.’ But there’s a saying here, ‘No one stays.’

Do you embrace change? I try to. Sometimes, I crave it. A change can be as good as a rest. It’s a fresh start, a new beginning. It’s freedom. Other times, it’s unwelcome. It’s exhausting.

You can’t always hold onto the people and places you want to. The main thing is to recognise and cherish the value they’ve brought to your life, rather than bemoaning their loss. The winds of change mess up all sorts of things, but they can’t sweep away the memories you choose to keep. Choose to keep the good ones.

Today (and I stand by this, despite the detractors who claim we don’t gain or lose anything, just adjust our watches), we gained an hour. I was deliciously triumphant to turn the clocks back. For some reason, it always takes a few goes before I get which way it’s going, why and what it means for the days to come. Every time. Maybe that’s tied in with my terrible sense of direction and my distress when trying to calculate time differences and foreign exchange. Daylight savings is a funny old thing.

Part of the reason I was so happy to save some time today is that I feel like time is running away with me. I try to stop and pause and enjoy the gift of the present etc etc… But I too often feel like I’m on a roller coaster, trying to juggle everything I want to get done while attempting to cling on for dear life. And so often wondering at the end of the day/week/month where on earth the time went, even when I’ve lots to show for it.

Time is of the essence at the moment. I’m rewriting The Book To Be before sending it off to an editor this month. I’m also putting wheels in motion to try and attract more fiction clients to my editing business so I can build on the foundations I’ve laid in the last year. Then there’s the never-ending, ever-growing list of accountanty things to do now financial year-end is breached to tie everything down and address tax time. I’m heading back to the UK for a month in August, and there’s lots of admin required – now it’s April, it doesn’t seem too long at all to get a lot of affairs in order, including negotiating moving out (sad face) and getting our passports back from immigration (who tend to move with the speed of sea monkeys). I’d also like my money back from the TradeMe guy (yes, I am an eternal optimist).

I can’t believe how time has flown since writing posts on these events. Overall, I do seem to be doing the things I plan to and enjoying the ride. Or at least trying to put a positive spin on the twists that turn my stomach. I just wish I could cage time. My school’s 10 year reunion is this month (how? Just, how?!).

How do you stop time running away with you? How do you feel about daylight savings?! I particularly enjoyed The Bloggess’s take on the matter, and the notion of a daylight savings week, ‘so that everyone can catch up on TV and get a one week extension on all deadlines.’ Show me the petition and I’ll sign it.

This week, I have been mostly becoming addicted to Suitsand considering the nature of truth. Laughably, given the triumph of the pending reversal of the bank-charge-to-be, partner-in-crime and I were almost immediately robbed on TradeMe (a Gumtree/Ebay equivalent over here).

We handed over $1720 last Tuesday, expecting delivery of goods by Friday. On Saturday, I received a message saying said goods were broken on Thursday night. Having spent all our money buying a car on the Wednesday, the seller says they don’t have the funds to pay us back straight away. But there were assurances our money would come back to us asap. A week later, I followed up. They ‘honestly’ don’t have the money to pay us back. But will. By 1st April if not before. Never mind that we’re paying credit card interest in the meantime and have effectively loaned this guy 2k for a month for free to buy a car. Having said he’d send the goods on payment, why did he even still have them at the end of the week? Couldn’t he have posted the item when he went out to buy a vehicle with our money? Is it even broken, or is this whole thing a scam? This could just be an unfortunate situation. I’m trying to be patient, putting myself in the seller’s shoes. But I just can’t tell how truthful those shoes are.

I dropped a line to TradeMe to let them know the situation. But even if it becomes evident that the seller’s leading us on and not planning to return our funds, they can’t actually do anything to enforce repayment. Like so many things, online trading is all based on trust.

I don’t think I would have made a very good lawyer. I only ever wanted to be a movie-star lawyer anyway (Tom Cruise in The Firm, Tom Cruise in A Few Good Men, Tom Cruise in Cocktail… wait…). Anyway, I’m unsuited to a life of Suits. I just can’t hack lying. I’m not saying that lawyers lie. But when there are two sides to a dispute, lies are all around.

I was in court last month for a contractual dispute, representing my employer. It was a fool’s errand because, at every turn, I was confronted by lies. The respondent was lying; the witnesses were lying; disgruntled ex-employees were lying; or more current employees were lying about what the ex-employees had been told. Some lies were blatant, while other lies I’m sure they had told themselves with such conviction that they were convinced they were the truth – but that didn’t help me. I ended up pulling the case, because I couldn’t produce enough evidence that everyone’s lies were just that.

I wrote notes on how frustrated I was at the time – I’m looking at the garbled mess of hyperbole as I type. I couldn’t face a collusion of lies with an unsupported truth. And it killed me. Bear in mind this was just a small-fry contractual issue, not a life-changing criminal court charge. But I cried with frustration.

People lie. They cheat. They steal. They hurt. They maim. They kill. But we have to move through life with a little trust. There are good people who act in good faith and we can’t look upon everyone as the enemy. My hope is that in cases more important than my company’s dispute, truth overcomes lies and justice is done.

My hope is also that I get my money back from my TradeMe perp. Perhaps he is in good faith and really does just need some time, for genuine reasons. Hmm.

Let’s take a poll – am I getting my money back?! Who else has a problem with the lies other people tell? What’s the worst lie you’ve ever been told and how did you handle it?